When She Loved Me

Through the summer and the fall
We had each other that was all
Just she and I together
Like it was meant to be

And when she was lonely
I was there to comfort her
And I knew that she loved me

“When She Loved Me,” Sarah McLachlan

Out of habit, I kept eating as though I was still pregnant. I stayed away from sushi and cold cuts, opted out of pate and Vietnamese mayo, made with raw eggs, on my sandwiches. I mindlessly lathered  lavender body oil on my stomach and breasts after my shower as if still trying to prevent stretch marks.

Being so careful about food before taps into my “anger” stage of grief; it’s so ironic how I tried everything I could to be “good” and protect my baby, abstaining from food that some women don’t consider a big deal to ingest while pregnant, reading the ingredients on self-care products such as lotions, face creams, and shampoos. And all of it is to no avail. As awareness crept in, along with the acceptance that I was no longer pregnant, I allowed myself to and enjoy some sunny-side-up runny eggs, decaf coffee, and a sandwich with pate. I went to lunch by myself during my maternity leave and ordered a rainbow roll from one of my favorite sushi restaurants. I started pouring wine to sip with dinner. I know, I’m very much living on the edge.

I could never forget how hard it was to take that first step off the ultrasound table the day I found out Thi had died. Since then, every step has been a hard one. I kept dreading the next steps: the pain of labor, the anguish of researching funeral homes, the heartbreak of having to speak and show my grief in public at her memorial service. I was navigating a terrain in which I had no experience. People offered to help me do these things. But I couldn’t hold my little girl, nurse her daily, stay up with her nightly. I couldn’t do anything more for her but to put my heart into these details and see her off. All these hard things, I do out of love.

And now I see. It was as if my previous blindness from an oblivion of ignorance suddenly granted me sight beyond sight. I started seeing the mothers who grieve for their dead babies, the fathers who trudge onward at their jobs with an emptiness in their souls. I know their pain and see them in their loneliest hours—how they stare into the void. How they struggle to find strength to get up and keep moving through a life that has dealt them such a cruelty.

 A loss at 5 weeks, 5 months, 1 day...it doesn’t matter. Even if they didn’t look fully formed yet, these babies leave an indelible impression on our hearts.

Stars

And now I'm all alone in the dark of night
The moon is shining but I can't see the light

And I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are

--“Stars,” Grace Potter & The Nocturnals

Week 3 postpartum. Sometimes the dreams get creepy. I usually get them on the cusp of falling asleep, and then I awaken again. This time, I see Thi’s coffin, though she hardly has a body left and we’ve opted to cremate. Formed around the coffin are baby hands, still fisted in their infancy—white and blue, the colors of death and oxygen deprivation.

“Have you come for my Thi?” I asked them. Endless sets of eyes look up at me, wide and infantile. They are the souls of our lost babies, come to bear her spirit away.

Who You'd Be Today

It ain't fair: you died too young,
Like the story that had just begun,
But death tore the pages all away.
God knows how I miss you,
All the hell that I've been through,
Just knowin' no one could take your place.
An' sometimes I wonder,
Who'd you be today?

--“Who You'd Be Today,” Kenny Chesney

I’m drained from such an emotionally hard day. We bought our baby’s urn and finalized the details for proofing: her ultrasound picture, a quote, and a poem to be engraved on the sides. 

I’ve picked an outfit and accessories to be cremated with her. The dress and bow are from a big bag of girls’ clothes that I bought for her on Black Friday, so excited that I’d be having a girl to dress up. They ranged in sizes to fit her from Newborn to her first year, and I so looked forward to watching her grow into them as the seasons changed. The particular dress I chose would have been her coming-home outfit when she would have been due: May 13^th, on Mother’s Day. I’ve been advised to donate the clothes since I wouldn’t be able to use anything for Luc, but I couldn’t bring myself to part with outfits so carefully and lovingly selected.

At Target, we bought booties and a unicorn comfort blankie for Thi. I thought of my tiny baby wearing the soft pink preemie booties that were still too big for her, clutching the blankie for companionship as she stumbled along the paths of the afterworld. 

I did not cry while meeting with representatives from different funeral homes and cemeteries. But I was arrested in my tracks in the middle of the children’s clothing section at Target; I put my hand over my aching heart as my eyes welled up with tears. I was not prepared for such a sudden and heavy emotional trigger. Heck, I was just going shopping, as I had done so many times in the past for my son, and for gifts for baby showers and friends’ newborns. Something about these being the last things I’ll be buying for my little girl to wear just breaks my heart.